If I cannot, we will haul it
up as we did the coal."
He went, and the cousins sat down to wait his return. It was a cold
evening, but Arctura was well wrapt up, and Davie was hardy. They
sat at the foot of the chimney-stack, and began to talk.
"It is such a long time since you told me anything, Arkie!" said the
boy.
"You do not need me now to tell you anything: you have Mr. Grant!
You like him much better than ever you did me!"
"You see," said Davie, thoughtfully, and making no defence against
her half-reproach, "he began by making me afraid of him--not that he
meant to do it, I think! he only meant that I should do what he told
me: I was never afraid of you, Arkie!"
"I was much crosser to you than Mr. Grant, I am sure!"
"Mr. Grant is never cross to me; and if ever you were, I've
forgotten it, Arkie. I only remember that I was not good to you. I
am sorry for it now when I lie awake in bed; but I say to myself you
forgive me, and go to sleep."
"What makes you think I forgive you, Davie?"
"Because I love you."
This was not very logical, and set Arctura thinking. She did not
forgive the boy because he loved her; but the boy's love to her
might make him sure she forgave him! Love is its own justification,
and sees itself in all its objects: forgiveness is an essential
belonging of love, and must be seen where love is seen.
"Are you fond of my brother?" asked Davie, after a pause.
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